


The Chronicles of the Deductionists

by kitmerlot1213



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Christmas, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, F/M, Fourth of July, Friendship, Gen, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Rape Recovery, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmerlot1213/pseuds/kitmerlot1213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of my short stories and drabbles for the Sherlock Holmes fandom--both BBC Sherlock and Elementary.  Many of these stories are inspired by prompts from the Weekend Challenges at the livejournal community 1-million words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doll's House

**Author's Note:**

> My first Sherlock story: Sherlock and John's investigation doesn't lead quite where you'd expect.  
> This is my first attempt at writing in the 1 million words comm or for BBC Sherlock fandom so please tell me if I did something incorrectly. Also, this story was inspired by the excellent movie The Conjuring.

This is a 680 word Johnlock Halloween story--ENJOY!!

It was Mrs. Hudson who first came to them about the hauntings.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but John listened patiently while their landlady explained what Mrs. Turner’s tenants in 230B Baker Street claimed they heard.

The recent tenants were a young couple by the name of Lucy and Tom Martin and they were awoken several times in the night by the sound of clapping. Lucy also swore she could hear the whispering voices of small children but it only seemed to happen when she was alone.

Tom never doubted his wife’s story and the two of them pestered Mrs. Turner to call in a paranormal investigator, but Mrs. Turner wasn’t quite sure that was necessary, so she asked her good friend and next door neighbor Emily Hudson if she could get her boys to look around.

Sherlock had flatly refused, not wanting to give credence to such ludicrousness but as luck would have it, he didn’t have any real cases on, none from Scotland Yard or John’s blog, to occupy his time so he agreed to take a look.

~~~

John and Sherlock exchanged horrified looks when they got inside Lucy and Tom’s flat.

Their sitting room was literally filled with all types of dolls of various shapes, sizes and colors. There were antique dolls, life size granny dolls, rag dolls and even miniatures.

John had smiled politely at Lucy before asking, “So, you’re a doll collector?”

Lucy had looked briefly startled before she spoke. “Oh no, these are all Tom’s.”

Sherlock barely managed to stifle his laugh before John could speak again. “Lots of money in doll collecting than?”

Tom scowled before he replied, “Yes, I’ve made a huge profit on Ebay in the past.” He turned to lovingly pick up the doll closest to him. “I can fetch a pretty penny for these things.”

John cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, Sherlock and I are just going to take a look around if that’s okay with you.”

The Martins nodded their heads and moved towards their kitchen where their landladies were drinking tea and watching the boys work.

John and Sherlock exchanged another look before they both separated, Sherlock towards the main bedroom and John up the stairs to the second bedroom.

This room was also filled with dolls and John tried his best to throw off the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.  
He wandered around the room, a thought wiggling around the back of his mind that he wasn’t as alone in the room as he thought, when he suddenly remembered the old childhood game of hide and clap that he and Harry used to play.

What if…?

John had to clear his throat twice before he could get the words out, stoutly refusing to feel the least bit foolish. “How about a game of hide and clap?”

Unsure if he actually wanted proof in the form of a response, he took one last look around before he covered his eyes and started to spin around “one, two three.” He finished counting to ten and called out “Okay, first set of claps?”

It was at that exact same time that John could hear Sherlock’s voice, calling his name.

He quickly dropped his hands and strode out the door, not noticing that one of the dolls had her hands raised as if to clap.

~~~~

Sherlock discovered that Mrs. Turner’s building was equipped with an old intercom system that was installed in the 1980’s. It had stopped working and she’d never bothered to get it fixed, but somehow the children who lived in 230A discovered the intercom and decided to play a trick on their unsuspecting parents.

It was their voices being piped into the Martins flat that Lucy kept hearing and not some ghostly children’s’. Everyone laughed in relief and John and Sherlock went back to 221B to the profuse thanks of the Martins and Mrs. Turner and the gratitude of Mrs. Hudson.

That night, in the darkness of the second floor bedroom of 230B Baker Street, a voice squeaked out. “Who wants to play hide and clap?”


	2. An Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I love the character of Mary Watson and I want her to get a hero's exit, befitting the awesomeness of the character and because she had the good taste to fall for John Watson :) This fic was inspired by the Friday Comment fic at the 1-million words comm

This is a 773 word John and Mary Watson story--ENJOY!!

 

Mary smiled grimly while she muttered to herself, “Make it quick, don’t want to give them a chance to trace it.”

She didn’t look up at the other person in the room while she dialed John’s phone, a small part of her hoping he wouldn’t answer. That the call would go to voice mail. And then that way…

He wouldn’t know what had happened until it was too late to change anything.

It hadn’t taken Mary long to track down Moriarty’s former assassins because for all of his paranoia, he’d preferred to use the same hired killers for multiple jobs. She knew this from prior experience, having been his employee for the past several years.

It also hadn’t hurt that Moriarty had paid extremely well and that tended to foster loyalty.

So with the help of Mycroft Holmes, they’d laid a careful trap and three of Moriarty’s usual five assassins were quickly arrested and imprisoned in an unknown location. 

That left just her and Sebastian Moran and Seb was proving to be as elusive as ever.

Mary knew that it was just a matter of time before the sniper decided to exact revenge for Jim’s death and she also knew who he would call on for assistance. 

By now he would know about the others’ arrests and whose side she was on.

She didn’t go to either Sherlock or John with her plan because she didn’t want John to know just how far she was willing to go to stop any threats to her family. She loved John and she wanted him and their unborn baby untouched from her former life.

And she didn’t want to put Sherlock in a position where he’d have to lie to John, so she went straight to the British Government with her idea and that had been one of the smartest decisions she’d ever made.

However, what she hadn’t counted on was Sebastian Moran’s fatal need to prove himself as Moriarty’s most loyal henchman.

He hadn’t looked the least bit surprised when she walked into the abandoned house he’d planned to use for the Holmes job. It had the perfect vantage point for the murder-- a clear view of Baker Street up to the front of 221B and Angelo’s.

Mary hadn’t bothered to use any concussion grenades, preferring to look Moran in the eye when she shot him dead.

She’d had her Glock trained on him the minute she walked through the front door.

What had surprised her was hearing the tell-tale beeping of a bomb being activated by trip wire.

Mary shook her head in disbelief, appalled that she hadn’t realized the extant of Moran’s obsession with their fallen boss.

Seb held his phone up for her to see, his face utterly expressionless. “You can still stop this Morstan,” Seb stated. “You have five minutes before this explodes.”

“Can I, Seb?” she retorted hollowly.

He briefly flinched at hearing Jim’s pet name for him. “Call off the Holmes brothers and we can both walk out of here.”

Mary didn’t even pause to consider his words. “So you can just come back and finish the job at a later date? I don’t think so.”

 

~~~

 

The hand holding her phone shook slightly when John answered, but the gun hand was perfectly steady.

“Mary, where are you? You have an ob appointment…”

“John listen to me, “her abrupt tone enough to bring him up short. “The block of Baker Street your old home is on needs to be evacuated.”

She had to swallow once before she could get the words out. “There’s a bomb.”

To his credit John didn’t try to question her, recognizing the distressed fear in her voice. Instead she could hear him yell to Sherlock to call the police.

“Mary, please tell me…”

“There’s no time for me to explain.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears when she briefly rested her hand on top of her stomach, feeling the baby calm down inside her womb.

“I made so many mistakes, but this is one I can make right.”

Mary’s eyes moved to the window, a sudden movement had her diving to the floor. Sebastian Moran’s lifeless body fell to the floor next to her, a bullet wound in the center of his forehead.

“I’m only sorry for our daughter, John. She never had a chance.” She took a deep brief, trying to keep her sobs down. “I love you John Watson, never doubt that.”

“Mary, tell me where you are, I can help, Sherlock can help…”

Mary closed her eyes, curling in on herself, listening as the beeping got steadily louder and faster.

It wouldn’t be long now.


	3. Times is Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an Elementary Joanlock friendsip horror story involving cannibalism, so there are parts that are gory. It’s not overly graphic but it is bloody and it is disturbing.
> 
> In brief, Joan and Sherlock meet up with a baker and things don’t go so well.

This is a Joanlock Elementary horror story written for the spook me challenge on livejournal. It’s a rather disturbing story full of bloodiness and cannibalism and there are a couple of Sweeney Todd references. Enjoy!

 

Once upon a time, in another life, Joan Watson had been a surgeon.

She helped fix what was medically wrong with her patients, and in turn, helped people to live better, healthier lives. She’d been proud of her work, proud that she’d been responsible for saving so many lives.

But then because of one horrible accident, she’d ended a life and altered the lives of her patient’s family and friends and she knew that she had to leave medicine. 

Who could know that three years later, she’d be kneeling on the floor of a bakery, trying to stop a woman from bleeding out?

Joan could vaguely hear the sounds of a struggle happening somewhere behind her in the kitchen, but all of her concentration was on tightening the tourniquet around the woman’s wrist. 

Her eye was drawn to the strange looking wound and it took a matter of seconds for the clues to fall into place. 

The woman hadn’t used a knife or sharp blade, but her own teeth to chew on her wrist and open her own veins.

Feeling sick, she took a deep breath before calling out, “Sherlock, how much longer before the paramedics get here?”

Joan heard a shuffling sound to her right, and she quickly turned. “Sherlock, this woman’s losing blood, we’ve got to get her…”

Any words she was about to say died because standing in front of her wasn’t Sherlock, but the madman they were trying to catch.

He wasn’t a big man, he stood no taller than 5’7, but he had a powerful build and Joan could see the muscles on his arms bulging even underneath his blood-stained apron. He was in his late thirties, with straw colored hair, pale blue eyes and a nondescript face.

The only thing remarkable about him was his smile, which was bright and welcoming whenever his customers came in the buy his bread and pastries or his special meat pies.

Except now his smile was cold and the butcher knife he held gleamed in the gloomy light of the bakery.

But before Joan could even speak, the baker started to talk. “Now girlie, wait your turn, Miss Sally is up next.” He looked lovingly down at the injured woman.  
“She’ll do nicely in some pot pies I’m planning.”

Joan couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through her. “You’re one sick bastard you know that?”

The baker, who had the unfortunate name of Benny Barker, laughed, the madness he managed to hide finally coming out. “I’m sick, am I?! Who’s the one person on this block who helps feed the homeless on a daily basis?”

Joan snorted in derision. “You’re only fattening them up so that when you kill them, they can make more meat pies for you!”

“Well there is that,” Benny conceded. “But at least I’m trying to clean up this city.” He turned to give her a challenging look. “What are you doing to help?”

“I help by putting killers like you behind bars!” And before he could even react, Sherlock struck Benny with his own rolling pin, knocking him out.

 

~~~

 

Detective Bell looked close to throwing up when Sherlock and Joan started to relate how they figured out that the local baker was targeting New York’s homeless population and killing them. It had something to do with Sherlock noticing the correlation of the increase of cans and glass bottles littering the area and the decrease in the disappearance of dogs and cats.

What they hadn’t realized was that Barker’s Famous Meat Pies were in fact people.

The fact was brought home when Sherlock and Joan had broken into the bakery to search for clues and instead of finding the place empty, they’d found Benny Barker sitting on top of a woman and eating her arm.

His face was covered in blood while he tore pieces of her flesh off with his teeth. He’d been concentrating so deeply on his meal that he hadn’t heard them enter.

They’d both run at the pair, with Sherlock knocking the man off his victim and Joan focusing on saving her life. Unfortunately, Benny got a lucky punch in and he temporarily dazed the detective, but Sherlock soon railed and they were able to subdue the cannibal and save the patient.

Detective Bell looked down at his note pad, nodding to himself. “Alright, a good nights’ work you two. I’ll need you down at the station tomorrow to make your reports.” He smiled when Joan and Sherlock both barely controlled their sighs of relief at being able to finally go home.

As they left the bakery and walked down the city streets towards their brownstone, Joan startled Sherlock by grabbing his arm. “Halloween’s tomorrow.”

Sherlock huffed in agreement. “Why yes it is Watson.” He quirked a curious eyebrow in her direction. “Run out of your hidden supply of Reese’s Peanut butter cups?”

She rolled her eyes at him before speaking. “No, I was just wondering if this time of year contributed to Barker’s psychosis.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Watson, Halloween did not make Benny Barker into a murdering cannibal nor did the full moon or the fact that his father loved watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

He fixed her with a pointed look. “There are people in this world who are violent psychopaths and Benny Barker was one of them. We’ve put him away, and now there is one less predator walking the streets.” 

They’d finally reached Stamford Street and they both simultaneously turned toward the brownstone but before they reached the door, Sherlock smiled gently at her. “Halloween is a wonderful candy filled holiday but in cannot influence people who aren’t already violent to kill.”

 

~~~

 

Nell Todd watched the newscast about the cannibal Benny Barker and she shook her head. The bloody fool had been doing it all wrong. You don’t kill the people in the place where you did your baking but rather in a separate building.

Nell congratulated herself, glad that she watched the evening news before getting ready for bed.

Tomorrow would be that start of a whole new career for her. 

She even had the name of her bakery all set up. “Auntie Nell’s Pie Land.”

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a lovely day.


	4. BBC Sherlock Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles, drabbles everywhere, all inspired from various weekend challenges at all Johnlock--ENJOY!!

!. I offer you a 340 word BBC Sherlock's drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words Enjoy!

Seriously?

Sherlock looked incredulously from John’s smiling face to his over-sized couch. “So, you thought you’d just help me, a random stranger, move my couch three flights up to my room?”

“Like I said, it’s no big deal,” came John’s slightly over-eager answer.

“Ah, well, thank you for your help,” Sherlock hesitantly answered.

John didn’t reply, but his grin somehow got brighter. “John Watson, by the way.” 

Sherlock stared at him intently before nodding back. “Sherlock Holmes.”

But before either young man could so much as move, loud voices could be heard shouting down from an open window of the house the pair was about to enter.

“Oi Watson, has tall, dark and dreamy showed up yet?”

John cringed as another voice joined the second. “Is that today? Thank Christ our torture will be over soon!”

A third voice now joined the raucous din while Sherlock’s eyes never left John’s face. He had no idea the human face could turn that color of puce. “’Oh Sherlock, you’re so clever, oh Sherlock I know we’ve never met, but marry me today!’”

The guys’ laughter abruptly stopped when they looked out the window and saw their friend standing next to his crush. “Oh shit!”

A sound rivaling that of stampeding elephants descended from the third floor to the outside curb as three massive rugby players barreled out of the house, straight toward Sherlock and John.

“I know this looks bad, but John’s not a stalker,” began the first player.

“You had a chemistry class together last semester,” the second player added in helpfully.

“And John bribed a classmate to hack into student housing to see where you were living this year,” the third player finished, trying but failing to look harmless.

John turned to look helplessly at Sherlock. “You see, it’s all perfectly normal.”

Sherlock peered at each young man, reading the truth in their expressions. By the time his gaze returned to John’s, he was blushing just as hard.

It looked like this semester was shaping up to be an interesting one.

 

2\. I have two BBC Sherlock drabbles, inspired by the Drabble challenge at 1_million_words

One is a semi-lighthearted 100 word drabble:

Look up!

 

If you had asked him two years ago, John Watson would have told you that the simple words “Look up” would have caused him to practically curl up into a fetal position.

Watching Sherlock fall to his death had caused him to experience horrendous nightmares, both waking and dreaming and John didn’t think he’d ever get past it.

But back in their sitting room in Baker Street, John had smiled softly when he heard Sherlock shout those same words.

John didn’t even flinch when popcorn sailed past his nose. “John you’re supposed to catch the popcorn when I throw it!”

 

And my second one is a 100 word angsty Mary Watson drabble:

Think of Me

 

Everything--sound, light, voices—felt as though it was filtered through a tunnel. 

Mary could distantly hear her husband’s distressed voice speaking to the paramedics, and she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that something was horribly wrong, that a baby, her baby her brain helpfully supplied, should be crying but there was only silence.

John’s shouting, what happened to Mary and the baby, why was there so much blood, gradually faded away. Losing his wife and son would be hard for John, but Mary prayed that one day he would think of her and remember happy times.

 

3\. This is a 100 word Sherlock drabble for the Number Challenge at 1_million_words:

Lemons

 

John was leaving the surgery and heading for the tube station when Sherlock texted him.

John read the text, put his phone back in his pocket and then pulled his phone back out a minute later to reread the text.

“72 lemons, why the hell does he need 72 lemons?”

John hadn’t realized he was talking out loud until the people on the street around him started to give him strange looks.

He smiled apologetically and quickly texted back but right before he pressed the send button he paused. Did he truly want to know why Sherlock needed 72 lemons?

 

4\. This is a 125 word BBC Sherlock drabble written for Weekend Challenge at the 1_million_words ENJOY!

 

Done and Done

"One of the most time-consuming things is to have an enemy."

“What did you just say, Freak?”

Sherlock’s usual reaction would have been to roll his eyes, but instead, he kept his gaze firmly on Sally. “You heard me correctly Sgt. Donovan,” Sherlock replied. “I will no longer engage in these ridiculous verbal spats with you.”

His gaze shifted to the man across the room from him, his eyes noticeably softening. “I have more important things to be thinking about now.”

Sherlock spared a quick glance in Sally’s direction. “I’m sure you understand.”

And before Sally could even attempt to response, Sherlock was striding across the room and calling to his partner, “Come along John, we have suspects to interrogate.”

Sally stared after them, shocked.

5\. This is a 220 word BBC Sherlock drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!

A Comrade Returns

John’s move back into the Baker Street flat was not nearly as dramatic as the first had been. He’d simply shown up with his duffle bag and walked to the second floor bedroom—Mycroft’s people showed up fifteen minutes later with a total of four storage bins, and a chest of drawers—and unpacked.

Sherlock had barely watched the proceedings but once his brother’s minions had gone, he’d raced to John’s bedroom and just stared. He never thought he’d see the day that he and John would be cohabitating again, but Mary had lied to his face once too often, and John had packed up and left.

John could feel Sherlock’s sharp gaze on his back but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He knew he owed Sherlock an explanation, but he couldn’t talk about the extent of Mary’s betrayal, and Sherlock seemed to know this because he asked a completely unrelated question. “Who is #57?”

John looked up startled as Sherlock gestured to the rugby jersey in John’s hand. “Who is #57?” Sherlock quietly asked again.

John smiled slightly as he beckoned his friend closer. “Well, that’s a bit of a long story.” Sherlock rolled his eyes in fond exasperation as he perched on John’s bed, listening as John began to talk. “It all began back in university…”

 

6\. This is a 580 word Sherlock drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words Enjoy!

A Ruse de Guerre

It was one of those surreal moments that John knew intuitively would never have happened to him if he hadn’t met Sherlock Holmes.

They had somehow talked their way into an exclusive party—truthfully, Mycroft had their names added to the list but Sherlock refused to acknowledge that fact—and they were currently in search of the person Mostly Likely to be a Blackmailer.

The party was in the home of some Count or another, John knew they had a title but he couldn’t remember what the title was, and Sherlock decided they needed to search the bedrooms.

And of course the owner of the bedroom they choose to search first decided to come back to change into yet another bespoke suit and that’s how John found himself being half thrown out of the bedroom window and onto the balcony.

“Well, this is just lovely,” John whispered, shivering slightly from the cold.

Sherlock shot him a murderous look. “Keep your voice down.”

John glared right back, “Keep my voice down?! That’s rich coming from you!”

Just then the occupant of the room, one Mr. Marc Wickham, looked out the window in alarm. “I say, is anyone out there?”

Sherlock grabbed John by his arm and pulled him into the shadows of what turned out to be an isolated alcove.

Somehow, John ended up with his back against the wall, with Sherlock leaning close to him. It startled him how much he enjoyed Sherlock’s sudden proximity, but before he could get his bearing Sherlock did the unexpected.

He pressed his lips against John’s.

It wasn’t a kiss but it wasn’t not a kiss either. John made a small sound in the back of his throat and opened his mouth to Sherlock and then suddenly it was a kiss. 

Sherlock’s arms came around John of their own accord and John was so done because this? This was everything.

The pair were so entwined that at first they didn’t hear the annoyed cough coming from Mr. Wickham but by the third loud clearing of the throat, John was finally forced to react.

He broke their kiss and smiled slightly at Sherlock’s whimpered protest. “Yes?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could with an aroused Sherlock pressed against him.

~~~

After security was called and John and Sherlock were soundly told off and escorted off of the property did they realize the enormity of what just happened between them.

As they walked back to the train station, the air practically cracked between them. John was grinning, but Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was because of the kiss or the adrenaline rush.

He just knew that he didn’t want to lose his friend over a stupid kiss. A stupid, mind-blowing gorgeous kiss.

Sherlock reached out and tentatively grabbed John’s arm, and John stopped walking and turned to fully face his friend.

Sherlock looked nervously back at his blogger, his expression uncertain and the tiniest bit scared. “John, we could forget this ever happened.”

John frowned slightly at Sherlock’s words. “I don’t think I could forget it.” He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, they were filled with calm determination.

“We are most certainly not forgetting! In fact, we’re going to dinner at Angelo's to celebrate.”

Sherlock swallowed reflexively, his mouth suddenly dry. “Celebrating what?” He croaked out.

“The beginning of our new life together,” John answered, smiling softly. Sherlock’s happy grin was all the answer John needed.


	5. Rare Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to create Sherlock drabbles for a Rare Pair challenge and this is what I came up with--ENJOY!!

1.A 125 word Molly/Greg drabble for my Weekend Challenge. Enjoy!

A New Beginning

 

Molly stood nervously in front of New Scotland Yard, unsure if she was making the right move.

When Greg had called her, asking her to meet him for dinner, she’d been excited. She was happy that their relationship was finally moving to the next phase, but then he hadn’t shown up. 

Molly knew that if Greg had caught a case, he would have let her know not to wait for him. She’d become officially worried when he hadn’t answered any of her texts or phone calls.

So she decided then and there that she needed to know if he was serious about their relationship.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he’d been kidnapped, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

 

2\. This is my 200 word drabble contribution to the rare pairs challenge at the 1 million words community and one of the pairs I could choose from was BBC's Sherlock, Mycroft and Anderson. Please keep in mind that I haven't seen Season 3 yet-not until Jan. 19th on PBS:

I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

 

Anderson glanced around the warehouse uncertainly as he peered into the gathering darkness, vainly looking for DI Lestrade.

‘Greg’, he reminded himself. Anderson was now allowed to call his former boss by his first name.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and practically swallowed his tongue when he saw the man standing in front of him.

Mycroft Holmes was two feet in front of him, his signature umbrella and finely tailored suit standing out in stark contrast to the rundown machinery that littered the room.

“Mr. Anderson”, Mycroft began pleasantly, “I believe we have a lot to talk about.”

“Do we?” Anderson all but squeaked out.

Mycroft smiled thinly, “Yes. we have several friends in common and I thought it was time we met.”

Anderson smiled weakly and stood as tall as he could. “Mr. Holmes, I know I was wrong when I bought into Moriarty’s story, and all I want to do now is make amends for it and help clear your brother’s name.” 

He looked down and spoke quietly,” It’s the least I could do after what happened.”

Mycroft nodded and spoke just as quietly. “Like I said, we have a lot to talk about.”


	6. Drabbles Galore;  Elementary's Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles, drabbles everywhere, all inspired from various weekend challenges on livejournal, various Elementary characters--ENJOY!!

1\. This is a 200 word Elementary drabble for Weekend Challenge: What is Unread at the 1 million words Comm from Mary Watson's--Joan's mom--POV--ENJOY!!

 

A Mother Knows

 

A mother knows her child.

A good mother knows when her child needs to be coddled and when they need to be set free.

The best mothers know when their children are making the worst mistake of their lives.

Mary Watson knew that the moment Joan announced that she was leaving medicine to become a sober companion that she would regret her emotional decision.

And in that six months, Mary watched her once vibrant daughter become a mere shadow of herself.

Joan had been a serious child, but she’d also been able to laugh at herself and have a good time with friends and family.

This new version of Joan hardly ever smiled and when she did, it was almost a painful grimace.

But then she’d met Sherlock Holmes and everything changed.

The first time Mary saw her daughter again, she saw the Joan she knew before. She saw the Joan who was alive with purpose. She saw the Joan who loved life and wanted to make a difference.

Mary smiled sympathetically as her daughter ranted about her friend and partner, and Mary knew, as all mothers did, that her child had found her soul mate.

A mother always knows.

 

 

2\. An Elementary drabble, 185 words, for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words

 

Not a Tramp Stamp

 

“ I can't decide, Starbucks or a tattoo.”

Jamie Moriarty had many sterling qualities and while sentimental was definitely not one of them, she was damned if those words uttered so casually by the teenaged girl (art student, first time away from home, eager to prove independence) didn’t bring on a memory so visceral she almost dropped to her knees

The image of Sherlock Holmes, sprawled across their bed in their London flat, brow furrowed in concentration, ink pen in his hand while he drew a design on her hip…popped into her mind and stayed there, bringing with it emotions she didn’t quite want to deal with.

If she closed her eyes she could still feel the tiny pinpricks from the needles.

She took a calming breath to clear her mind, but her hand moved to her right hip and hovered there.

Jamie resolutely flattened her palm against her thigh, ignoring her hand’s tremble, and pushed the memory of Sherlock, happy and deeply in love, to the back of her mind, vowing to herself that one day, she’d get that happiness back.

One way or another.

 

 

 

3\. This is a 455 word Elementary ficlet for the Weekend Chalenge at 1_million_words It features our favorite criminal mastermind, Jamie Moriarty--ENJOY! :):)

 

Cold Comfort

 

She often wondered what would have happened if she’s told Sherlock the truth about herself the day they had met. If she’d dropped the Irene Adler persona and told him point blank that her true name was Jamie Moriarty.

Or maybe not the first day, but rather after they started spending virtually all of their time together, when Jamie realized they had more in common then she’d realized, and that he was far more dangerous to her plans.

Sherlock admired her skill as an art restorer—he had relied on it to solve one of his cases-- and he’d been amused that she’d been able to pass off her forgeries as the real works of art.

It had been at that very moment when Jamie wanted to tell Sherlock the truth and sometimes, she daydreamed that she had.

“There are things about me that I’ve kept from you.” Jamie would begin hesitantly, half way convincing herself that her worry was only a farce to win Sherlock’s sympathy.

He would fix her with one of his earnest gazes and quickly point out that he already knew everything he needed to know. “Irene, your past is your own; we do not have to make completely banal yet undoubtedly gut-wrenching confessions to each other in order to prove how we feel.”

But Jamie would insist and Sherlock being Sherlock would demand proof and then she’d have to reveal what she dreaded: that Irene Adler was a created persona that allowed her to meet the man who had been foiling her plans and to ultimately figure out a way to stop him.

That could go in two ways: either Sherlock would be impressed by her genius or the more likely scenario, that he’d be horrified that the woman he was in love with was a criminal mastermind.

Jamie liked to think there was at least a part of him that would respect just how thoroughly she’d outsmarted him.

He’d be grudging because his pride would be hurt, but his admiration of a plot well played would come out. “Well done, that. I am not normally so easily fooled so this must be thrilling for you.”

But no matter how grim he sounded or how hurt he’d be, there would still be that part of him, that part that smiled at her tricking unworthy art owners, that would want to know more. More about Jamie, more about her criminal activities, more about how they could become partners in every way. Just more.

Jamie shook her head, knowing in her heart of hearts, that Sherlock would have turned her over to the police faster than she could have faked her own death.

But there was no harm in dreaming was there?

 

 

 

4\. Snow in spring? So, in the spirit of the day, I decided to post a 100 word Elementary drabble for the Drabble challenge at 1_million_words  
I'm using my title with apologies to Robert Frost

 

The Woods are Dark and Deep

 

“You have got to be kidding me!”

And then a minute later: “You complete and utter bastards!”

Joan and Kitty were used to Sherlock’s outbursts but his cursing surprised them both, so they decided to see what the detective would do next.

Sherlock stomped into the kitchen where Kitty and Joan were having breakfast. “I thought we were bloody well out of the woods, but it’s snowing again.”

Joan and Kitty exchanged a look filled with exasperated fondness for their dramatic friend, but Sherlock would have none of it.

“It’s the first day of Spring. Shouldn’t this be meteorologically impossible?”

 

 

 

5\. A 130 word Elementary drabble for my Weekend Challenge.

 

CLYDE

 

Clyde Holmes Watson was a simple tortoise. He was highly intelligent in so far as turtles went, but he was simple in his needs.

All he needed to be happy was his lamp, water, and some leafy greens. He wasn’t too into the vitamin supplements Mom made him take, but they could have been worse.

Clyde was always wary when Dad would pick him up though, because he never knew what would happen. Sometimes Clyde would be a paperweight, sometimes he’d be used in a crime scene recreation.

That was kind of cool but then Mom would freak out.

Clyde couldn’t remember his Life before the Brownstone. He knew he had lived somewhere before but his memories were all fuzzy.

And he somehow knew that was definitely a good thing.

 

 

 

6\. An Elementary 183 word Drabble A/N: My answer to the season 2 finale. Written for the Weekend Challenge

 

Moonglow

 

 

She would never admit this to him, but Joan missed Sherlock and his intrusive need to literally know everything about a person in a single glance.

Joan hadn’t even known that he left their brownstone—‘his brownstone’, her conscience quickly reminded her, ‘you moved out’—until two weeks passed without his contacting her.

She then realized with a sinking heart that she hadn’t heard from him in six weeks.

She knew that she hadn't handled the Mycroft situation well she feared that she’d hurt Sherlock deeply but she thought they were still at least friends.

Joan was unused to feeling as out of sorts, as melancholic, as she was currently feeling and she hated it.

The moon chose that exact minute to come out from behind the clouds and shine directly on her, and in spite of her worry, she found herself smiling.

Yes, things were strained between her and Sherlock right now, but there was no reason they couldn’t be improved.

With a renewed spirit, Joan stood up and made her way to Sherlock’s home.

 

 

7\. 245 word drabble at the 1_million_words Weekend Challenge.  I received The Hanging Man tarot card and I decided to also try my hand at writing for the Elementary fandom. The following drabble means no disrespect to psychics, believers in the Tarot or fans of Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

The Hanging Man

 

“A Barbie doll?!”

“Technically, it’s the Ken doll, Barbie’s pseudo-boyfriend, but yes, it’s a Mattel doll.” Joan stopped speaking after Sherlock’s disbelieving snort interrupted her explanation.

“Watson, you seriously don’t believe that Barbie and Ken are in a relationship?”

Joan shook her head, trying not to show her amusement. “Sherlock, I don’t think it’s the time or the place to be wondering about Ken and Barbie’s relationship.” She pointed to the rope. “I think what we need to be considering is why Ken was hung upside down by one foot from the Barbie Dream House.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. “Actually, our burglar has quite the sense of humor. They didn’t steal anything of real value, only the family’s unwashed laundry, and then he or she left this macabre replica of The Hanging Man for the child of the house to find.”

Captain Gregson motioned the detectives over. “So get this, the lady of the house, a Mrs. Caputo, claims to be some kind of psychic. She even does her ‘readings’ here in the house.”

Joan glanced over at Sherlock, “This could be revenge of some kind, especially if the client didn’t like their reading,”

“A possibility, but it could also be staged by the psychic to gain publicity,” Sherlock countered.

Gregson looked between the pair. “I agree with Holmes. Who breaks into a house to take dirty clothes and hang a doll upside down?”

“A neat freak obsessed with Barbie dolls and Tarot cards?” Joan countered

 

 

8\. This is a 100 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge--Vacation at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

 

Not an Ugly StepSister

 

 

“Is that what I think it is?”

Joan smiled at Kitty’s awed tone while Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

“What?” Kitty asked defensively. “We’re standing in Cinderella’s castle, looking at the carriage she took to the ball.” She waved her hand at the huge golden colored vehicle in the middle of the square. “How can you not be impressed?”

Before Sherlock could reply, Joan linked her arm through Kitty’s. “Let’s get in line for pictures.”

At Kitty’s excited nod, Sherlock realized two things: his friends were a lost cause and they actually were in the Happiest Place on Earth.

 

 

9\. This is a 100 word Elementary drabble featuring the awesome Kitty Winter. It is for the Cry Me a River challenge at 1_million_words

 

 

Never Again

 

Kitty remembered her rescue from the dungeon in stark detail.

She remembered the police bursting through the locked door, instinctively flinching from the beam of their torchlight, not being able to move far.

Her right wrist had been manacled to the wall

She remembered the look of horror in the seasoned policemen’s eyes at seeing the condition she was in, covered in bruises, her thighs bloody from her rapists’ nails digging into her flesh.

And it was right at that moment, the exact minute the Met cut her free, that she vowed never again.

Never again would she be victimized.


	7. More Elementary drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of drabbles featuring Joan Watson, Sherlock Holmes and sometimes Kitty Winter, Marcus Bell and Captain Gregson :):

1\. This is a 170 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

What's with the totem?

Joan inspected the totems carefully displayed on the mantle of their fireplace.

There were four of them, all different size with the smallest totem standing at three inches and the tallest at about ten inches and all of them were designed with various colors and markings.

She turned towards Sherlock as he entered the sitting room and gestured to the totems. “You have four? Are you hoarding them?”

Sherlock rolled eyes at Joan’s joking words. “You jest Watson, but I’ll have you know I’m collecting totems made specifically from volcanic ash.”

He picked up one that was carved from a particularly beautiful shade of light gray ash and held it up for Joan’s appraisal. “This totem is made entirely from ash from Mt. St. Helen’s.”

Joan took it gingerly and ran her fingers over the intricate designs. “I seriously thought you were about to tell me that this totem was used to kill someone.”

“”Don’t be silly Watson,” Sherlock scoffed. “You’d need much heavier artwork to achieve that specific goal.”

 

2\. This is a 350 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words Enjoy the creepiness :):)

A Cold Water Flat

Joan Watson was not a fanciful person by nature. She was a detective who believed in hard facts and deductions that could be proved with evidence.

But she couldn’t deny that the minute she stepped inside 527 Park Avenue, she’d felt a sense of doom.

The feeling of wrongness permeated the older tenement style apartment and the fact that it was yet another property owned by Moreland Holmes didn’t bode well for the premises.

And the only reason she was even there was at Sherlock’s behest--he’d asked her to break in and search the residence for information on Mae Holmes--he didn’t believe his father on the best of occasions but now that the investigation into his mother’s mysterious death was being reopened, Sherlock didn’t want any stone unturned.

And Joan was happy to help her friend anyway she could but she couldn’t quite shake the eerie feeling that she wasn’t quite alone.

She’d even texted Sherlock, asking for confirmation that the apartment was deserted and Sherlock assured her that it was.

And yet…

Odd things kept happening.

She’d been searching through the study, going through files when someone knocked on the door. Thinking it was Sherlock, she hurried to answer it but no one was there.

When she went back into the study, the files she’d been carefully sorting where thrown all over the floor.

Joan looked cautiously around and before she could start to straighten up, a loud crash came from the kitchen. She ran to the kitchen, and again, no one was there, so she quickly made her way back to the study…

Only to find the files back just as she’d left them.

She took a deep steadying breath, deliberately telling her jangled nerves to calm the heck down and determinedly went back to reading.

She almost convinced herself that she made the weirdness up when she scared herself by sneezing loudly.

Joan laughed at her own jumpiness, pretending that she didn’t sound damn close to hysterics when her phone abruptly rang.

Unthinking, she answered the phone without looking at the caller id. 

“Bless you,” a voice whispered before hanging up.

 

3\. This is a 255 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!

Toxic

It was an abnormal day in the brownstone when the normally cool and collected Joan Watson could be seen running up the stairs from her basement office and skidding to a stop in the living room.

She frantically gazed around the room before throwing herself onto the floor, nearest the first pile of books she saw.

Kitty, seated at her makeshift desk in front of the murder board, opened her mouth to ask what was happening when Joan began a frenetic search of each book, practically ripping the pages in her haste.

She watched in bemused silence as Joan began to mutter darkly to herself after each unsuccessful attempt.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she tentatively reached out a hand to touch Joan’s shoulder to get her attention.

“Watson, can I help?” Kitty asked softly.

Joan lowered her head in defeat. “No,” she uttered dejectedly. “I missed the deadline.”

“Deadline?” Kitty repeated quizzically.

“Sherlock bet me that I wouldn’t be able to find the exact chemical compound of Himalayan blackberries needed to poison an unsuspecting victim.”

Joan didn’t wait for Kitty to reply before she spoke again. “The deadline was 9pm and it’s...”

Just then Sherlock sauntered into the living room, holding his cell phone grandly. He leaned in closely to look at it before smiling mischievously at a quietly seething Joan. “Watson, do you know that it's 9:15?"

Joan turned and exchanged an exasperated glance with Kitty. “When I find the compound, you’ll help me test it on Sherlock, right?”

 

4\. This is a 135 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

A Holiday Fugue

“You think his amnesia is only temporary?”

Sherlock looked between Joan and the EMT with a puzzled frown. “Amnesia?” Sherlock repeated questioningly.

“Yes,” Joan answered calmly--well, as calmly as one could when finding out their best friend had a potential traumatic brain injury. “Apparently, a crate of firecrackers exploded a foot from where you were standing. You fell backwards from the blast, and hit your head on the pavement.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened. “I not only have a headache, but I have absolutely no memory of what has occurred.”

Joan nodded worriedly before she replied. “The EMT’s don't think your amnesia is permanent, but we should probably get you to the hospital for a thorough exam.”

Sherlock sighed heavily before looking pointedly at Joan. “And you wonder why British people dislike the 4th of July?”

 

5\. This is a 140 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Decrepit

“I’m sorry, did you say she graduated in '86?”

Joan looked at Sherlock questioningly before continuing to read from the case file again. “Yes, our victim, Martina Burke graduated from Archbishop Baron High School in 1986. She was born in…”

“Oh, I thought she graduated AT 86,” Sherlock interrupted sardonically.

Joan sighed loudly before she spoke again. “Sherlock…?”

“So glad you asked. Look at her face—at her skin--you can see how papery her skin is.” Sherlock held his magnifier out to her expectantly and Joan leaned in to examine the corpse more closely.

“Okay, she does appear to be older than forty seven,” Joan conceded reluctantly, but before she could offer an explanation, she could see Sherlock barely controlling his own exuberance. “You have a theory don’t you?”

“Yes, it involves sun lamps, baby oil and tin foil.”

6\. This is a 115 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Super Keen

To his credit, Marcus Bell’s expression didn’t change once. Maybe it was from his years as a homicide cop or maybe it was from his exposure to Sherlock Holmes, but he was now immune to the insane things the British detective often uttered.

“I said, if you find picture hangers, glass glue and a shower curtain in the suspect’s bag, he is your murderer,” Sherlock repeated impatiently.

But before Bell could even begin to reply, Sherlock was speaking again. “Honestly Marcus, you’ve been exposed to my methods long enough, I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out for yourself.”

Bell just shook his head, laughingly. “Sherlock, all I know is, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

 

7\. Please enjoy a 165 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words :):)

A Fruitful Inquiry

In the years since Joan had met Sherlock Holmes and had actually become friends with the eccentric detective, she learned not to ask too many questions about his odd behavior.

But this, this needed to be questioned.

“Sherlock, seriously, why the hell do you have 90 boxes of these?”

Sherlock looked up from his collection of locks that he was rearranging yet again, a perplexed frown on his face at hearing Watson’s exasperated tone.

And at seeing what she was holding in her hand, his mouth quirked up into a half smile.

“Oh those,” he answered dismissively, but by Joan’s expectant expression, she needed more of an answer.

“I only like certain kinds of Jell-0,” he reluctantly allowed, “the majority of which have been discontinued, so when I come across the flavors I like for purchase, I stock up.”

Joan shook her head in disbelief. “Yes, but don’t you think 90 boxes of maple syrup, raspberry mango and root beer Jell-O are a bit much?!”


	8. A Hidden Agenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan thought she knew everything there was to know about her mother. Turns out she was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the December 15, 2016 Wadvent challenge at the livejournal community watsons_woes . I was also inspired by the prompt for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words

The truth was not always an easy thing to admit and it certainly wasn’t always an easy thing to hear, especially if it pertained to your own mother planning a murder.

Her mom had been sitting at the brownstone’s battered kitchen table, drinking tea and eating a scone, when she let the proverbial bomb drop.

Joan looked between her mother and Sherlock in shocked disbelief. Only when her mom reached out a soothing hand did Joan react. She grasped both her mom’s hands in a beseeching gesture before she could even begin to articulate a question. “Mom, do you know what you’re saying?”

Mary Watson smiled sadly at her daughter before she slowly nodded. “This is not an excuse, but it was the Christmas right after your father admitted to the affair.” She lowered her gaze in embarrassment before she spoke again. “I was not at my best.”

“Mary, perhaps it would be best if Joan heard the entire story?” Sherlock’s voice was quiet but filled with an understanding Joan simultaneously hated and envied.

“You remember that everyone at the country club knew about your father and that woman?” At Joan’s terse acknowledgement, Mary continued. “I couldn’t show myself anywhere in town without someone either whispering about it or just staring at me with pity.”

Joan could feel her mom’ hand starting to tremble, so she tightened her own grip and gave a reassuring squeeze.

It took Mary a moment to gather her composure. “We were all having difficulty with the situation and even though your father had apologized and begged forgiveness, things between us were still tense.”

Mary knew the next part would be hard for Joan to hear but it still needed to be said. “You and your brother had both decided that you weren’t coming home for Christmas,” and at Joan’s outraged grumble, Mary quickly amended her statement. “Yes, I know you were in your residency and you couldn’t get the day off, but what was Oren’s excuse?”

After Joan looked slightly mollified, her mom forged ahead. “So, it was just going to be Henry and me, and for the life of me, I had no idea how I was going to get through the day.”

Here, Mary took a deep fortifying breath, while she glanced almost pleadingly at Sherlock. He leaned across the kitchen table and laid his hand briefly across Mary’s forearm before he whispered, “Was that when you decided to poison your husband?”

Mary managed to choke out a “Yes,” before her eyes filled with tears but once Sherlock said the word aloud, a dam seemed to break inside Mary and the story just spilled out as she wept.

“It was after the forty-sixth trip to the farmer’s market to get Henry the exact pecans he liked and the corn syrup he favored and all natural brown sugar that had been all the rage at the time that the idea first occurred.”

Mary’s expression became almost dream-like. “Old Fashioned Pecan Pie was Henry’s favorite dessert and I made that god forsaken pie at every Christmas dinner since we’d gotten married. The pie was so sweet that my adding anti-freeze to it wouldn’t even be noticed.”

She shook her head at the memory and her expression seemed to clear before she turned to her daughter. “You remember that your dad would practically use up an entire container of whipped cream on one piece?”

Joan looked worriedly at her mom before she wistfully answered. “I also remember you scolding Dad and giving him about ten antacids for his stomach ache.”

Sherlock could see the pain on both Joan and Mary’s faces as he gently encouraged Mary to be as open as possible. “When did you decide to abandon your initial plan?”

Now it was Mary’s turn to squeeze Joan’s hand. “You had called us right before dinner and I could hear your dad laughing as you talked, and I couldn’t go through with it. Right then and there, I threw the pie into the trash.” 

She smiled grimly at the memory before turning back to Joan. “As angry and as hurt as I was, I still cared for your dad and we were still a family.” Mary waited until she had her daughter’s full attention. “I knew I couldn’t hurt someone I loved as much as I loved your dad.”

Joan hadn’t realized she’d been crying until Sherlock handed her a handkerchief and her mom brushed away her tears. Mary looked resolutely between Sherlock and Joan. “I don’t think I’d ever been as frightened by my own actions before and I vowed to never endanger anyone again.”

Sherlock smiled briefly before he responded. “That is all anyone of us could ask.”


	9. Ghost Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Morstan Watson's past comes back to haunt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my 2015 contribution to the livejournal community spook_me--ENJOY! :) This is a different take on Mary's assassin past.

As soon as John saw the state of Mary’s flat, he knew something was terribly wrong.

John wasn’t overly neat by any stretch of the imagination, but he did like cleanliness and Mary had been the same way. Their married life found them happily dividing the cleaning chores which had been a nice surprise from his time living with Sherlock.

But now, John looked around dismayed at the slovenly mess his ex-wife and baby daughter were living in and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed how bad things were.

Sherlock interrupted his reproachful thoughts with his usual quickness. “Don’t be ridiculous John. Mary was obviously going to extraordinary lengths to keep her deteriorating mental health from you.”

John nodded bleakly in agreement as he looked worriedly around the room. “But where did she take Hanna, Sherlock? If she is as mentally unwell as all of this cluttered mess suggests, where did she take our daughter?”

Sherlock’s sharp eyes scanned the room but he stopped at hearing John’s words. “John, I’m not trying to alarm you,” he said slowly. “But the question should be what exactly is Mary planning.”

 

The messages started appearing on the mirrors or any shiny surface in the flat: "Your baby looks tasty. May I have a bite?" " Delicious baby, YUMMY!!"

Mary changed all of the locks, but the messages kept showing up.

 

It was Lestrade and his team who’d found an agitated Mary wandering around Highgate Wood, her daughter held tightly in her arms.

She’d also had a wicked sharp hunting knife hidden in her jacket pocket.

The inspector noticed immediately that both Mary and Hanna were wearing their clothes inside out and when she clutched Hanna to her chest, he could see that the little girl’s clothes were run though with a multitude of pins.

 

By silent mutual agreement, John and Sherlock separated to search the flat, John taking the bedroom, nursery and bathroom, while Sherlock examined the kitchen and living room.

The flat was literally filled with iron and steel. There were at least three sets of scissors in every room, knives and cutlery were laid haphazardly on tables, chairs and counters. There were also pins, straight pins and safety pins, on every piece of clothing of Mary and Hanna’s

John also noticed that Mary’s collection of ornamental bells were placed throughout the flat.

And weirdly enough there were loaves upon loaves of bread in varying states of freshness, some about a week old, and vases filled with daisies also virtually littered the flat,

What the hell was going on?

 

It had been a little before 12am when Mary had finally been able to sleep but she knew she was going to have a restless night.

While Hanna had gone down for her bedtime without a whimper, Mary had felt uneasy, a feeling of dread hanging over her the entire evening.

She sensed that something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong.

Mary was lightly dozing when she realized what was “off.”

She shifted to a sitting position, any pretense of trying to rest gone. She tried to calm her heartbeat while she concentrated on listening.

It was then that Mary could hear it, a softly humming sound.

The baby monitor crackled as the sixth month old whimpered in fear, her distress going straight to her mother’s heart.

Mary was across the room, gun in hand, before the sound of the other voice registered. “There, there darling. No need to fret.”

She tore open her daughter’s nursery door and stopped dead in her tracks.

A darkly beautiful woman—no creature—was bending over Hanna’s crib, her black satiny wings fluttering out behind her and partially concealing the baby.

Mary barely registered that she was raising her gun to shoot, her movements fluid despite her terror, but before she could pull the trigger, the creature spoke, her Gaelic accent harsh in the quiet room.

“A debt is owed, and I’m here to collect.”

 

John had just seen Mary not three days before and she’d been her usual self.

She was handling the demands of motherhood and of being newly divorced with an ease John sometimes envied.  
Despite being a doctor and natural caregiver, there were times when he felt overwhelmed and not up to the task but then his precious daughter would smile at him and he would be awed by the profound honor it was to be her father.

But now, seeing Mary, her hair unkempt, clothes on inside out and raving about a winged creature scared him to his core.

John was almost afraid to find out what happened to make his normally unflappable ex-wife so terrified.

And what a story she had to tell.

John stared in horrified silence as Mary talked, unable to wrap his brain around her words.

It was Sherlock who spoke. “So you’re saying that a fairy is threatening you and Hanna?”

“Yes, a dark fairy by the name of Bryna, who,” she added at their skeptical expressions, “has been stalking me for days.”

John and Sherlock exchanged equally baffled looks and it was John who finally spoke. “How exactly did you run into a fairy?”

She could see that they didn’t believe her so she answered more forcefully. “When I was working as an assassin I had dealings with the fairies and things didn’t end well.”

“And you got her away from Hanna by throwing your Glock at her?”

“Nickel plated,” Mary replied.

 

Turns out that Mary had been afraid of a fairy attack since Hanna’s birth, changelings and all that, so she stocked her flat with as much anti-fairy weapons as she could.

She also explained about the disappearing threatening messages and how she felt as though she was being watched all the time.

John watched as Sherlock nodded thoughtfully and he felt as though his head was spinning. “Sherlock, please tell me you are not buying this?”

Sherlock looked annoyed but it was Mary’s entreaty that made John realize just how seriously she was taking this.

“John, just be prepared for all possibilities—for Hanna’s sake.”

 

Mary was left in the lockdown psychiatric ward and John had taken an exhausted Hanna home with him back to his ex-wife’s flat.

While John got the little girl ready for bed, Sherlock silently prepared her nursery for an imminent fairy attack.

And then they sat down to wait.

It didn’t take long, exactly one minute after midnight, when John heard it, a soft feminine voice cooing to his baby daughter.

The sound should have been soothing but there was a dark malevolence to it that raised the hairs on the back of John’s neck.

He and Sherlock exchanged a quick look before they were both on their feet, steel knives in their hands as they both moved towards the nursery.

John pushed the door open and it was just like Mary had said, a beautiful winged creature stood in their daughter’s room, but this time, she was at least a foot away.

Scissors hung upside down over Hanna’s crib, a macabre mobile.

He started when the fairy spoke, her melodious voice filling the nursery.

“Ah yes, scissors to keep me away from the wee bairn.” Byrna looked levelly at John. “But what makes you think your girl was who I was after?”

He could distantly hear his mobile phone ringing and Sherlock leaving the room to answer it, his distressed tone evident.

Byna smiled coldly at Hanna, and she turned to nod at John.

“You mind what’s yours and remember that a MacAvoy fairy never forgets and never forgives.”

Sherlock ran into the nursery his knife raised in anger. “John, Mary’s dead.”

In shock, John turned to Bryna, his own knife raised, but she’s already disappeared, her harsh Gaelic tone hanging in the air.

“The debt’s been paid.”


	10. Even more Elementary drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, drabbles inspired by challenges at the livejournal community 1 million words

1\. This is a 340 word Elementary drabble for the fabulous Hamilton the Musical inspired Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!

The Unreliable Narrator

The new case Captain Gregson called them in on was a particularly alluring one, filled with more than twenty suspects and more than one murder weapon and Sherlock was in his element.

Joan wondered to herself if she should be worried that he was this gleeful over a murder, but just as quickly Sherlock switched on a dime and started to meticulously sort through the witness statements with a reverence reserved for religious objects.

They had been working silently for over fifteen minutes when Sherlock spoke suddenly.

“No one has control over who tells your story.”

Joan blinked in surprise but Sherlock was already speaking again. “We can’t control who lives or who dies and what people say about us.”

She smiled uncertainly and reached out her hand barely touching Sherlock’s arm. “If this is about ‘The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes’ I never had any intention…”

He blew air impatiently through his clenched teeth. “I wasn’t speaking of your aborted attempts at publishing our cases but rather that of your father’s.”

Joan threw the transcript she’d been reading down and pointed her finger accusingly at her friend, stabbing it into his chest for emphasis. “I knew my dad’s writing about you bothered you!”

He grabbed her hand and tried to stop her from poking at him. “Watson, I’m not ‘bothered’ per say, but I do wonder why he had to write such a vapid and pedestrian tale such as ‘The Badge Ran Blue’.”

Joan pulled her hand from his grasp and positioned herself into a martial arts stance. For a split second, Sherlock was genuinely afraid that Joan was going to kick his butt for not liking her dad’s story, but then he could see her fighting back a smile. “You don’t like being a Kung Fu master?”

Sherlock found himself smiling in relief. “Well, no that’s actually rather cool.” He waited until he had her attention again. “I was referring to the characters declaring their love during a gun battle and becoming engaged while being kidnapped by their archenemy.”

 

2\. Bring me Pine Logs Hither (200 word drabble written for a challenge at watson woes community at livejournal)

“I used to think the title of this song was ‘Good King wants his applesauce.’”

Sherlock blinked in surprise at her words, waiting for Joan to continue.

“The title to ‘Good King Wenceslas,’” Joan explained.

“I think only an American could fracture the lyrics to such a traditional British Christmas carol,” Sherlock drawled, a devilish twinkle in his eye.

“And only an Englishman could put the words ‘thither’ in a Christmas song,” Joan joked back.

The friends grinned at each other, and even though the only lighting in their living room came from their Christmas tree and the fire crackling in their fireplace, Sherlock could see the worry on Joan’s face.

“Perhaps we could visit the shelter on Bedford Street and bring some more supplies?” Sherlock suggested quietly.

Joan nodded. “Good idea. Let me just grab the blankets I bought and we can go.”

Sherlock knew that many of the homeless veterans in Brooklyn had a tendency to visit the shelters on 89th, Bedford and Flushing Avenues and he also knew that Watson was hoping to catch a glimpse of her biological father to ensure his continued existence.

He wasn’t sure what Watson would do if they couldn’t find him.

 

3\. This is a 135 words Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words Enjoy!

The Box Job

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Kitty smiled slightly at the two dumbfounded detectives while she gestured to the massive wall safe not so cleverly hidden in the jewelry store’s backroom.

“I said I cracked it. The combination to this safe is 67-76-63.”

Sherlock and Joan grinned proudly while Captain Gregson and Detective Bell exchanged incredulous glances.

The Captain spoke hesitatingly, “Look Kitty, I appreciate all the work you’ve done…”

“Just try the combination,” Sherlock interrupted exasperatedly, “if Kitty’s wrong, what harm’s been done?”

“And if Kitty’s right,” Joan continued, “then you’ve just saved yourself and this investigation valuable time.”

Gregson nodded and entered the numbers on the keypad, and at the loud beep, you could hear a pin drop.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gregson muttered. “We’ve got our own safecracker on the team.”

 

4\. This is a 110 word Elementary drabble for the Numbers Challenge at 1_million_words Enjoy!

The Sherlockian Way

As Joan and Sherlock stood in the midst of garland, and multi-colored lights, she began to worry that they’d taken on too much trying to decorate the brownstone.

Especially with Sherlock being so … Sherlockian.

He’d already strategically placed the evergreen wreaths on doors and windows, and had now turned his attention to the tree.

“Sherlock, what could you possibly be deducing? We’re hanging up lights!”

He grinned gleefully, his expression childlike in its earnestness. “Watson, I’ve figured out nine different ways we could configure the lights on this tree.” 

 

5\. This is a 240 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

A Crooked Architect

Joan knew that Sherlock was the very definition of a complicated man. 

He had a genius level intelligence and could easily understand the complexities of the criminal mind but he had a difficult time talking to people if it didn’t involve deducing them to shreds.

He could spot the smallest details of a murder scene but he’d practically break out in hives at the thought of meeting an attractive woman for coffee.

Joan knew that Sherlock could be kind and thoughtful but he usually deflected any of his compassionate acts under the guise of sarcasm.

She wondered if his mother’s presence in his life would have helped Sherlock to balance his sharp intelligence with a gentler more intuitive manner. 

May Holmes would have encouraged her son to not only read peoples villainous intentions but to also read their emotional reactions to his words.

If Sherlock’s mother had been with him as he grew up, she would have helped her son to navigate his time in boarding school better, he might have made more friends and then he wouldn’t have been so lonely.

Then perhaps he might never have started using drugs or fallen under the spell of Jamie Moriarty and he might actually have a relationship with his dad.

That was a heck of a lot of maybes but Joan knew one thing to be true. No matter how grown up a person became, we will always need our mothers.

He turned back to the blue spruce reverently. “Our tree shall be the most beautifully decorated tree on Stamford Street.”

 

6\. A 205 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Treasured Wisdom

“Oh what rubbish!”

Joan waited a moment, knowing intuitively there would be another outburst.

“Seriously? Are they serious with this bollocks?”

Joan shook her head at Sherlock’s ire. “Why do you let the "fortunes" in fortune cookies bother you so much?

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he crumbled yet another cookie in his grasp. He snorted derisively before reading the fortune out loud. “Your love, unlike this cookie, will never crumble.”

“I take it you disagree with the sentiment?” Joan asked drily.

“’Disagree with the sentiment.’ you ask? A man whose one great love is a criminal mastermind who fooled him for the duration of their relationship? Oh absolutely NOT,” Sherlock answered sarcastically.

“What about Fiona?” Joan shot back. “I don’t see her regard for you “crumbling” any time soon.” She leveled her gaze at him. “Do you?”

Sherlock started to automatically shrug negatively but then he paused and she could see he was struggling with his response, but then he shook his head mutely, his expression almost childlike from her chastisement and his own realization. 

Joan smiled softly at her friend as she reached out to briefly cover his hand with hers. “Have a little faith that Fortune knows what she’s doing this time.”

 

7\. This is a 195 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at the 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Dimwitted, Defined

There were various reasons why Sherlock rarely accepted cases outside of his and Watsons’ consulting work for the police, but occasionally they would take on a non-NYPD investigation.

The client was usually a friend of a friend, or even a former client who needed his help, but the one thing they all had in common was that the cases were too intriguing to be believed.

Unfortunately, when Joan took on a case, it was usually because the person played on her empathetic nature and that was proving to be the situation with Jeffrey Kim.

By the time Jeffrey was finished his rather ridiculous story, he and Watson had exchanged enough glances that it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone what they thought of his case.

As luck would happen, Mr. Kim needed it spelled out.

Sherlock leaned forward slightly to emphasize the importance of his question. “Mr. Kim, are you suggesting that your coworkers Merry Garland and Virginia Gonzalez both received raises while you didn’t because they’ve been replaced by clones? “

At Jeffrey Kim’s outraged nod, Sherlock pointedly turned to Joan. “This is why you aren’t allowed to pick out our cases anymore.”


	11. Can you tell I love Elementary?  More drabbles :):)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles inspired by the challenges at the livejopurnal community at livejournal: first three feature Elementary's Kitty Winters and the last two are Joanlock friendship

1\. This is a 255 word Elementary fic for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Not Isabella's

"So we're not going to eat at Isabella's. That's fine... Actually I hate the food at Isabella's so it's not such a big treat for me..."

Kitty tried to keep her pained expression from showing, but judging from the frown on Watson’s face, she knew she had been less then successful.

But how was she supposed to take this over-posh bastard seriously anyway? His name was Tate, he worked as a stock-broker and he held an extremely high opinion of himself.

And mind you, not one backed up by the facts.

Tate was also Andrew’s old college buddy—they had apparently both pledged Gamma Kappa Theta and Tate was more than happy to recount every disgusting prank he’d ever pulled—and Watson had asked if Kitty would be okay with being Tate’s date for the evening.

Kitty had reflexively started to say “No,” but she thought better of it. Her ongoing therapy was helping, but Kitty still had a difficult time being around men she didn’t know, so perhaps spending time with this Tate person, and knowing Watson and Andrew would be right there, might be the first steps in regaining a “normal” life.

So here she was in an expensive restaurant, “Not Isabella’s” as Tate kept reminding them, and Kitty found she was enjoying herself. Or rather, she was enjoying hanging out with Watson. They were quietly talking together and deducing their fellow patrons while Tate and Andrew, but really just Tate, laughed over their school days.

All in all, not a bad evening.

 

2\. This is a 185 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words and my drabble was inspired by this Gone With the Wind quote: After all, tomorrow is another day!

Fastening Your Seatbelt

In her former life, the life where Kitty wasn’t a rape survivor, she’d been a huge fan of the cinema. 

She would see a show at least once a week and she especially liked to watch the classic Hollywood films of the 1940’s and 50’s. Her parents encouraged her love for the black and white classics and they would often make recommendations of some of their own favorites.

But after she escaped her rapists’ dungeon, Kitty found it difficult to sit in a room filled with strangers in pitch darkness, so she’d immersed herself in watching the old movies on TV.

It was through watching these strong women living life on their own terms that helped her face her fears and find her own strength.

Kitty loved it when Bette Davis’ Margo Channing told of the double crossing ingénue Eve and when Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara refused to back down from Rhett Butler.

There were countless scenes of women not taking crap from anyone and Kitty yearned to have that type of freedom and five years later, she was finally there.

Tomorrow was another day, indeed.

 

3\. This is a 250 word Elementary drabble featuring Kitty so there are parts that are kind of angsty but also hopeful. It's for the Weekend Challenge at the 1_million_words ENJOY!!

Mastering Dread

“You can do this, it’s no big deal.”

Joan and Sherlock exchanged worried looks but they remained quiet as Kitty whispered words of encouragement to herself, visibly fighting to remain calm.

It was her fifth pep talk in that hour alone and Joan wished Kitty didn’t feel the need to put herself through this kind of emotional trauma.

Joan waited until Kitty opened her eyes again before speaking to her gently. “You know you don’t have anything to prove, right?” 

Kitty looked grimly back as she tried not to flinch when yet another drunken idiot walked into her.

“It’s St. Patrick’s Day Watson,” Kitty answered back. “I have everything in the world to prove, especially to myself.”

It had been at her pub’s St. Patrick’s Day celebration when Del Gruner drugged her drink and she’d awakened in his dungeon, naked and terrified beyond belief.

After she escaped, she’d had a hard time dealing with people, especially men, and she felt sick anytime she was in public.

Kitty hadn’t set so much as a foot in a bar since that night, and she was determined to get past that fear.

Which was why she was sitting on a stool in Quinn’s Irish Pub at 11am on March 17th with Joan and Sherlock on either side of her, fighting back her own nausea.

She’d be damned if she was going to let Gruner take another thing from her.

Kitty nodded at Sherlock and John, determined to get through this God-forsaken day.

 

4\. This is a 250 word Elementary drabble for the Weekend Challenge of Dialogue Prompts at 1_million_words ENJOY! :)

Curtains Denied

They’d been running for what felt like forever when they finally felt safe enough to slow down and stop.

Sherlock was convinced that the warehouse Black Jack Cummiskey owned in the meat packing district was a hideout for the guns he smuggled in across the Canadian border but he didn’t have enough evidence for the police to get a warranr, so he and Joan decided to do a little reconnaissance.

And it turned out that Sherlock was indeed correct.

Unfortunately, Black Jack’s crew had also been in the building and the situation turned a little nasty.

There was a confrontation, a fight and an escape but now they had to contact the authorities before the Cummiskeys could destroy all of the evidence and find them again.

Joan pulled out her cell phone to call Gregson to fill him in when she turned and caught a glimpse of Sherlock.

His face was normally pale but now there was a gray tinge to it that frightened her because it reminded her of the Emergency Room and _too much blood loss, organs shutting down, death_ and for just a moment, pure panic set in but then just as quickly she pushed it back down and a grim calmness came over her.

“It’s just a scratch,” he mumbled to her, as she practically ripped his jacket off of him to find the wound and to staunch the blood.

If Sherlock Holmes thought he was going to die on her, he had another thing coming.

 

5\. This is a 165 word Elementary fic inspired by the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!!

The Spell of a Spelling Bee

“Watson, explain!”

Joan looked up startled at Sherlock’s aggrieved tone.

He was holding an ancient looking frame and the glass was so smudged he had to tilt the glass towards the light in order to read the inscription.

‘“Joan Watson, first place winner at the 13th Annual Sussex County Spelling Bee”’, he read aloud. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a spelling champion?”

Before Joan could answer, Sherlock spoke again. “What word did you win on?”

And just like that Joan was taken back to 1986 where she had been an awkward fourteen year old with a too large vocabulary. 

“Esquamulose,” Joan answered, smiling slightly.

“Esquamulose,” Sherlock repeated doubtfully.

“Meaning ‘not covered in scales’, Joan replied, her smile growing larger.

Sherlock nodded slightly, his answering smile slightly maniacal. “Nicely done, Watson.”

Joan nodded back, returning to the file she’d been reading.

“You do realize I’m going to be quizzing you on word spellings, correct?”

Joan didn’t bother to look up. “Bring it on, Holmes.”


	12. Malediction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson's admiration for Sherlock goes to far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the spook_me challenge at the livejournal community and again, I do not mean any disrespect to anyone who practices witchcraft. This story is not meant to represent that people who practice witchcraft are inherently evil, and I do not mean any disrespect, this is simply a scary Halloween story.

He had tried everything—EVERYTHING—in his power to discredit John Watson in Sherlock Holmes’ eyes and none of it worked. 

Anderson tried to imply that John’s medical opinion was invalid, that he was letting his personal history or his PTSD cloud his judgment but Sherlock had scoffed at him questioning John’s medical expertise.

And of course John had been proven right in the cause of death, and as Lestrade loudly pointed out, John had been correct at naming the cause of death at nine of the last ten crime scenes they’d visited and Sherlock had smiled proudly at his friend each and every time.

Anderson wanted that smile directed towards him, he wanted Sherlock to look to him for the answers and to smile at him approvingly.

But that would never happen as long as John was around, so that meant that John would have to be gotten rid of.

This was the hard bit because Sherlock would be able to spot a faked crime scene faster than a normal person could blink, so Anderson realized that he would have to falsify the evidence after it was gathered.

Technically he wasn’t a member of Scotland Yard anymore but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have access to the lab at St. Bart’s or that he didn’t have a trick or two up his sleeve.

After Sherlock’s death, Anderson’s life had gone rapidly downhill and he had lost everything: his job, his wife, his friends. He’d been chucked out of his flat and was actually sitting in an alleyway when he’d met The Old Man-- and yes, the man’s title needed to be capitalized--and Anderson’s life changed yet again.

The most important thing he learned was not to ask questions and that whatever The Old Man needed , Anderson got by whatever means was necessary, so now Anderson was standing in the middle of St. Bart’s lab surrounded by vials filled with animal blood, black candles, and jars upon jars of ingredients that he didn’t want to know about.

Anderson turned as The Old Man seemingly glided into the room and began to arrange the various objects in a pattern on the floor. Soon, he was kneeling in the middle of the design, his hands folded into the sleeves of his cloak and Anderson watched as he gathered his strength.

“Ready?” The Old Man’s voice was gravelly, as though he was speaking with stones in his throat.

Anderson nodded, his eager gaze never once leaving The Old Man’ stooped figure as he began to chant.

 

And that was how John Watson was arrested for murder. Anderson had stood on the pavement opposite the Baker Street flat when an inspector from NSY had come to arrest John and he had to bite back a grin when he saw how distraught Watson had looked. 

Well, it served the little doctor right because Anderson was the one who deserved to be at Sherlock’s side because he would never abandon the detective. He would never leave Sherlock to marry some woman and it was high time Sherlock realized who his true friends were.

Sherlock must have texted the rest of their friends—Anderson noted that he hadn’t received a text yet—and soon 221B was filled with people hand-wringing about poor John’s being set up. Mrs. Hudson and Molly looked like they were crying, Angelo and Mrs. Turner was trying to get everyone to eat and Mycroft and Lestrade were standing to the side in deep conversation.

And Sherlock, well Sherlock look devastated but Anderson soon realized that no one doubted John’s innocence, that they were trying to figure out how the evidence had been mishandled.

DAMNIT, John Watson was supposed to lose all of his friends’ respect, especially Sherlock's.

Fuming, Anderson turned away from the scene, and he was so consumed with his anger that he failed to notice that a certain pathologist watched him leave with growing unease.

 

Anderson stared in shock as the news report. John Watson had been released from police custody just as quickly as he’d been arrested. Apparently, NSY admitted that the DNA evidence had been falsely labeled as being John’s and that when the blood was tested again, the true killer was revealed.

What the fuck was going on?! The Old Man had assured Anderson that the spell would last. Maybe the evidence bag was switched? Either way, Anderson knew that another nightly visit to St. Bart’s was in order.

 

Anderson crept quietly into the lab, the light from his torch bouncing off of the metal drawers. He made his way to the refrigerator and his hand was reaching for the handle when the lights were turned on.

He gasped in fear and threw his hand up to cover his eyes but he gasped again when he saw who was in the room with him.

It was Molly Hooper but not the buttoned downed Molly he was used to seeing. This Molly was dressed in a simple yet elegant black dress, her hair loose and her lips a dark red. She looked gorgeous and Anderson swallowed reflexively.

He was about to speak when she cut him off.

“Phillip, I’m surprised at you,” and Anderson was surprised again as even Molly’s voice was different. Gone was the timidly sweet voice and in its place was a throaty purr.

Anderson swallowed again and Molly continued to speak. “Using magic to hurt innocent people?”

She shook he head mockingly at him. “Don’t you realize the karmic payback you are going to get from that? And let’s not forget what Sherlock is going to do when he finds out.”

For the first time that evening, Anderson looked alarmed, but he needed some answers first. “How did you figure out that it was a hex?”

Molly rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been practicing magic? I can spot spell work a mile away and shoddy black magic is even easier to see.”

She had begun to move around Anderson, pouring out salt in a circle around him. “It was child’s play to reverse your spell and of course The Old Man was happy to reveal what your intentions were against John Watson.”

She turned and fixed him with a stern gaze. “You will be held accountable for trying to ruin an innocent’s life, especially as John’s a friend of mine.”

He tried to laugh derisively but his mirth died in his throat when he found that he couldn’t move.

He watched in mute horror as Molly began to brew a portion on the lab’s Bunsen burner, her strangely melodic voice drowning out the pounding in his heart.


End file.
